Consent
by Myriddin
Summary: Modern AU. Jon/Sansa. A series of ficlets starting with an anonymous makeout at a party that turns out to be not so anonymous. Joffrey Baratheon is an arse, and Jon Snow knows more than people give him credit for. ONESHOT.
1. Consent

**Consent  
** By Myriddin

Jon really wasn't a party person. Everyone knew that, especially his best friend, but Robb had dragged him out tonight in the name of getting Jon out of his funk. Jon wasn't exactly a social person to start with, but he had admittedly withdrawn even more in the few months since his breakup with Ygritte.

So he had let Robb drag him to Theon's end-of-the-semester bash. It was predictably loud and rowdy, as Jon spent the night hovering along the fringes of the masses of sweaty, drunken bodies, Robb having long abandoned him to make out with Jeyne in the corner. A couple hours later, he had long lost track of Robb and was on his third drink, just enough to be feeling it, but definitely not drunk enough for the ridiculous game he was being wrangled into.

Theon shoved him into his sister Asha's old bedroom and closed the door, shouting out that they had ten minutes. At the reminder that there was another presence in the room, he squinted at the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of his partner. He was about to open his mouth to speak when he suddenly felt the proximity of another body and soft hands cupping his face, tugging him down into a kiss.

She wasted no time, licking at his lips in search of entrance. It should have been alarming how quickly things were accelerating, but Jon hadn't been kissed with this level of genuine passion in so long. Her hands were buried in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, and his body was buzzing with sensation, his head swimming. A small thread of rationale finally broke through his haze and he pulled back reluctantly. "Listen," he whispered roughly, the gravelly quality to his voice barely recognizable even to his own ears. "You need to tell me the moment something isn't okay."

"I will." Her reply was so soft he couldn't have recognized the voice if he tried, but what mattered was that he did hear. She quickly diverted his attention with another kiss, questing hands untucking his t-shirt and daringly sliding underneath.

He groaned throatily, hands finding purchase at her hips. She backed up until she was leaning against the nearest wall, tugging him closer until their bodies were flush against one another. She nipped at his lower lip, rocking her hips into his and he growled, thrusting up against her in reply.

Jon delighted in the contact. The spark between he and Ygritte had died out a while before their breakup, and it had been months since he had known this kind of touch. Deep, hungry kisses, her nails raking slowly and teasingly up his back. The way she continued undulating against him, the soft sounds she made, threatened to undo him in every way.

Their hips were occupied in a slow, lazy grind, Jon noticing her rhythm was enthusiastic but a bit inexperienced. He rested his hand against the small of her back, intending to encourage a different angle that would improve the friction she received. Her shirt had ridden up during their activities and his fingers splaying out brought him into contact with her bare skin. She tensed at the touch, the reaction immediately like a sudden dousing of ice-cold water for Jon.

Jon groped for the light-switch, blinking at the sudden illumination until his vision cleared and his heart sank. "Sansa," he murmured dejectedly. Sansa Stark, his best friend's little sister, was staring back at him with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and fearful eyes. It was the fear that made his stomach knot.

"It's alright, Jon." She kissed him again, though she received little response. "It's alright." Her hands went to his belt and he caught them in his own.

"Sansa, stop. I'm not blind, sweetheart, I can tell you don't want this."

Jon recognized she was trembling at the same time that blue eyes began to fill with tears. He coaxed her back to him in a loose embrace she could easily break if she wanted and after a moment of deliberation, she relaxed into his arms. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, carding his fingers through her hair. "You wanna tell me what this is about?"

She nodded, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. "You know that Joff dumped me?" Of course he did, Robb had practically wanted a parade to celebrate. It was only the embarrassment the little prick had caused Sansa that caused her brother to exercise restraint. "He said some awful things...he called me frigid, said it was ridiculous that I never slept with him even though we're starting college soon. I just...I wanted to prove him wrong, I suppose."

He arched his eyebrows. "I seemed like the best choice? You know I'm not a hookup kinda guy."

"I know." She shrugged sheepishly. "But I wanted someone I could feel safe with."

Jon tried his best not to let show how much that little kernel of knowledge pleased him. He sighed. "Tell me the truth then. At what point were you not okay and you didn't tell me?"

Sansa raised her head to look at him incredulously. "Oh, Jon, no. Everything was fine, good...really good." Her blush deepened at that admission. "It wasn't your fault, but when you touched my back, I started thinking about what was supposed to come next and I froze. I'm sorry. I honestly thought I was ready. I didn't mean to lead you on."

"First off, Joffrey Baratheon is an arsehole and his opinion's worth nothing. Second of all, you've got nothing to apologize for. You haven't lead anyone on, lovely girl. We could be completely naked and ready, and the moment you wanted to stop, we would stop." At her dubious look, he nodded firmly to emphasize his point, leaning down to kiss her temple. "I mean it."

She breathed out slowly and then slowly mimicked his nod. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." Glancing at his watch, he realized their ten minutes had long passed, already past midnight, meaning they had likely been forgotten by the intoxicated party-goers. He rocked back and forth on his heels to test his sobriety and satisfied when he kept his balance, he cocked his head in her direction. "Can I walk you home?"

He offered her his arm and she took it with a smile, tucking her hand against his elbow. "I'd like that."


	2. Be Brave, My Sweet

**Be Brave, My Sweet  
** By Myriddin

 **Summary: Jon and Sansa's first date, but is everyone aware it's a date?**

Jon couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun.

He and Sansa's friendship had flourished since that infamous party. The afternoons they had spent together, meeting up for a cuppa or perusing shops in the West End, had reinforced Robb's determination to return Jon to the land of the living, enlisting his other siblings in his efforts. Jon once again found himself going out to the pub, to the park to kick around a football with the boys, attending Arya's fencing matches with the whole family.

Robb's crusade also included his sister, just as recently single and reclusive as Jon. Their current endeavor, the the three of them out to dinner along with Robb's girlfriend, Jeyne, had even been Sansa's idea. It pleased Jon to no end that Sansa was coming back out of her shell as well.

The restaurant had a lovely atmosphere, just posh enough to call for nice dress but not overly gaudy. Conversation and camaraderie flowed freely as Jon enjoyed some of the best roast supper he had ever tasted, though in all honesty Sansa was stealing bites of his meal about as often as he was snatching bits of her salmon.

Robb was being his usual charismatic self, regaling the girls with stories of their school days. Jon almost spit out his wine when he heard himself being falsely made out to be the mastermind behind a particularly memorable caper.

"Oi," he protested, "If you're gonna tell it, tell it right."

"You sure you don't want credit?" Robb said with a smirk. "It was rather genius."

"It was completely daft," Jon countered, turning to the girls to set the story straight. "He said we stole something from the headmaster's desk and almost got away with it, yeah? That's just the bare bones of it. Theon and Robb found out the headmaster kept some…odd things locked in his desk. The first I heard about it was seeing those two geniuses tearing down the hallway like they had Hell-hounds at their heels."

"Felt like it," Robb murmured, "Considering Pycelle sicked Thorne on us."

Jon shot him an incredulous look. "Robb, you stole a pair of knickers and a riding crop from Pycelle's desk. Allister Thorne was the least you deserved. Especially when you tossed the knickers at my head and got me involved."

Robb rolled his eyes, but didn't reply.

"Anyway, Thorne dragged us to the Sister and had us put to work. Regular stuff, sweeping and cleaning windows. Then we got to clapping the erasers. Robb, of course, couldn't resist acting like a git and throwing one at my back. I turned around to yell at him and he tossed another right in face."

Robb flashed a mischievous grin. "Theon got in on it and all hell broke loose. By the time the Sister came to check up on us, everything was covered in dust. And the Sister let out the loudest screeching I have ever heard."

Surprisingly, Jon was the one to do the impression for him. He drew himself up in a fair facsimile of the furious nun, pitching his voice several octaves high. "'Why you little beasts! In all my years working for the education administration, never have I seen such blatant and disrespectful misbehavior. The three of you are worse behaved than bulls in heat!'"

The girls, who had been visibly straining to hold in their laughter to hear the end of the story, couldn't hold back any long and burst into fits of giggles. "B-bulls in heat?" Sansa asked between chortles.

Robb grinned, pleased with his audience's reaction, and Jon chuckled, unable to help himself. "That's what she said."

"What happened after that?" Jeyne asked, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Dad kept us from being expelled, but he didn't let us off the hook. You remember that summer Theon and I interned at his office, Sansa? It wasn't exactly voluntary. Mum was so proud, too. Watching me leave every morning in an Oxford and tie…that I would roast in 'cause there was no AC. I did convince Dad to let Jon off the hook, though."

"That was gracious of you," Jon replied dryly, "Considering I was innocent to start with."

"Innocent? That's how you want to describe yourself?"

"Every time we were ever in trouble was your fault."

Robb made a mock expression of outrage and dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "I'm shocked you would think so lowly of me, Jon. After all we've been through together. Just think of the zoo incident in primary."

"Your fault."

"Our Year 10 commencement."

"Still you."

"Not the point."

"What is the point?"

"That we got through all of that together."

Jon smiled wryly, "I'm touched that you're such an active advocate for our brotherhood, Robb, but you're still missing the fact that all those incidents were your fault."

Sensing his defeat, Robb settled for making a rude sound that was so unexpected for their setting that they broke back out into surprised laughter.  
Charmed by seeing such an open, genuine smile on Sansa's face, Jon was determined to see it stay. Especially if it was at his best friend's expense. "Did Robb ever tell either of you about karaoke night at the pub?"

Robb groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

"Apparently all it takes is six pints and 'I'm Too Sexy' to get your brother to treat a small stage like his personal catwalk."

Sansa regarded her brother with a 'cat caught the canary' smile. "Did he shake his tush on the 'catwalk'?"

"Oh, yes. Right before he started stripping and got us kicked out."

Robb didn't discriminate as he glowered at the lot of them, his smug sister, his giggling girlfriend, and his traitorous best friend. "Yeah? How do you know it wasn't your caterwauling that got us the boot? You don't remember serenading that ginger fellow with 'Wild Thing'? You were so pissed you kept called the poor bloke Ygritte."

Jon didn't have time to let the embarrassment set in before Robb was looking apologetic. "Sorry. Shouldn't bring up exes on a date, even a double."

Jon's brows knit together with confusion as he turned to face the redhead beside him. "Date?"

Sansa nodded sheepishly, giving him a shy smile. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

He smiled softly, reaching over to rest his hand over hers. "That's plenty okay."

xxx

They finished their meal languorously, and music began to play in the background after the band finished setting up. Jon thoughtfully watched as Sansa's gaze caught and stayed on the dancers filling the floor. He smiled softly, rising to his feet to stand before her, "Do you want to dance? I'm not very good, but I can try if you want to..."

"I'd love to."

Shyness had no real place there anymore as she took the hand Jon extended toward her and allowed herself to be drawn into his arms. It was a feeling like coming home as she came into his embrace, their bodies fitting seamlessly. Despite his warnings, they moved fluidly together into the dance.

In his arms, it felt strangely familiar, it felt exhilarating and new, but most of all...it just felt right.

Jon leaned his head to hers and their cheeks brushed, the light stubble along his jaw scratching against her skin. Her nose crinkled at the sensation and he smiled. "Sansa?"

"Hmm?" Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers idly skimming along his nape to toy with the ponytail he'd pulled his hair back into. A pleasurable shiver ran down his spine at her touch.

"You look beautiful," and he was unable to hide the warm sincerity of his words, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"You're looking quite handsome yourself."

He chuckled. "No, you certainly outclass me."

"Thank you," she replied, shyly biting her lip, averting her eyes from his.

"Hey…look at me, sweetheart," his fingers curled around her chin, gently tilting her head back up to look at him. "Are you having a good time?"

"Yes. It's been unforgettable so far."

"Unforgettable, huh?" he said with a smile, playfully waggling his eyebrows, "Much be my irresistible charm."

She rolled her eyes, swatting him in the arm for the cockiness coloring his tone, though she could not help a smile. "More like irresistible foolishness."

They leaned back into each other once more, their foreheads meeting as their eyes locked, holding one another's gaze. Jon smiled again, and he found himself realizing that he had been doing so more often in the last few weeks than ever before in his life. Sansa could always draw a smile from him. No one else brought that same feeling of ecstasy, of exhilaration, of sheer giddiness, with just their presence.

As they continued to softly sway and gaze at one another, the humor was chased from her face to be replaced by something more serious. Some inexplicable emotion passed through her eyes, faster than he could decipher or react to as she suddenly leaned even closer, grazing her lips over his in a simple, chaste kiss that only lasted a few moments. His eyes fluttered closed, but before he could respond, she pulled away.

She watched him through a hooded gaze and Jon stood frozen, his eyes still closed and a small, hesitant smile playing over his lips. He tentatively opened his eyes to look at her, his face blanketed with confusion and cautious hope. "Sansa? What was that for?"

"Just for being you."

xx

The night passed in nearly a blink of an eye, and they found themselves walking down the still-busy streets near midnight. They strolled together, arms around one another with a faint destination of a taxi in their minds, neither in any particular hurry to put an end to the evening. Sansa sighed contently as she leaned closer to Jon, not for warmth but for the comfort of his strong and reassuring presence. Jon tightened his arm around her in response, favoring her with a gentle smile.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did." She glanced at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry if it seemed like I trapped you into a date. Jeyne knew I was nervous- it was her idea for us all to go to dinner. I should have realized she'd tell Robb and he'd open his big mouth."

"You don't have to apologize. I'd have to be completely daft to be upset about getting a date with a girl like you, Sansa. You've got to know how special you are."

Jon stopped suddenly, floundering as he realized how much he had said, "I…uh…that is…" He found himself cut off by a pair of soft lips pressing to his, all coherent thought flying out the proverbial window.

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling warm, strong hands come to rest respectfully at her hips as the kiss went on and on, until her world was a dizzy, fuzzy place full of nothing but wonderful, tactile sensations. She sank further and further into a heady delirium fueled by the lips that parted from her, feathering down her jaw and throat in a trail of light, fleeting kisses.

She stroked his neck, chest heaving against chest as they both panted for breath. Warm breath teased against her ear as Jon whispered incredulously. "Blimey."

Sansa could only breathlessly agree.


	3. Louder Than Words

**Louder Than Words**

By Myriddin

 **Summary:** **Jon and Sansa explore the physical aspects of their new relationship.**

Loud pop music bombarded the walls of her bedroom, her head bobbing rhythmically to the melody. She was oblivious to all the goings-on around her as her drawing pad was ready and present, her hands darting fiercely across the page as she sketched. It was moments like this he most loved seeing her in. Her face was so animated with concentration, full of small gestures he knew so well- the little wrinkle between her brows when she was deeply immersed, the way her nose crinkled up when she looked things over and found something she disliked. The way she bit her lip when she was stuck, the way the side of her mouth cocked into a little smile when she was pleased with the end product.

Her eyes took on a certain kind of spark, a creative fire that strangely elated him. It made him happy to see her happy, and a handful of the times he'd stumbled across her lost in her designs were some of happiest he had ever seen her.

"Should I start charging a viewing fee?"

The wry comment caught him off-guard. His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he flushed at the amused, knowing smile she gave him. "Er…sorry. Your roommate let me in."

"It's fine. I'm just surprised to see you. I thought I was supposed come by your place."

He shrugged. "They let me off of work early, so I thought I'd pick you up instead."

She glanced at the clock and quirked an eyebrow. "Jon, you're an hour and a half early."

He looked away, shrugging again, and she knew there was more to the story. "Jon, what's wrong?"

"M'fine."

"No, you're not. You seem to forget, I know you better than that."

"It's nothing."

"Jon, sit down and tell me what's going on."

The quiet command in her voice was one he quickly obeyed and seated himself on the bed. He heaved a heavy sigh. "I got a letter this morning. From a man claiming to be my brother."

Brow furrowing with concern, she sat down beside him. "Oh," she said simply, uncertain how to respond. "Oh, wow."

He laughed humorlessly. "That's exactly what my reaction was."

Sansa nodded, tucking her hand into his. "That's quite the shock. Do you want to talk about it?"

He sighed heavily and gave her hand a grateful squeeze. "No, not yet. I need some time to process. What if the offer's still good for later..."

"Absolutely." She rested her cheek against his bicep, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Whenever you need me."

He gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for listening."

"After everything you've done for me?" She leaned in to brush her lips against his. "It's the least I could do."

xxx

Their choice of plans for the night had been to get takeaway and check out the new releases available on Netflix. Stuffed full to the brim with pizza, they were lounging lazily on the couch in the middle of a movie about a man with a crazily possessed hand. Jon's delight proved to be that fact that Sansa was not a big fan of horror films, extremely jumpy and slightly spooked by the dark. Waiting for a particularly creepy cliffhanger, he lifted up the hem of her shirt and tickled his fingers against her back. 

"Jon!"

Incensed, she moved to smack him, squealing with surprise as he suddenly whirled her around, digging his fingers into her ribs as he tickled her. His body leaned over her, his face animated with boyish glee as she collapsed in helpless laughter, calling for him to stop between giggles. Jon didn't let up, pressing her back against the couch as he continued. Sansa writhed and squirmed beneath him, dragging her nails down his neck, tugging at his hair, threatening him between bouts of laughter, but still he did not let her go.

Slender legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she used her new hold on him as leverage, arching up against him in an attempt to throw him off. Jon barely budged, but he did pause, and she took advantage of his distraction, flipping them over so she lay atop of him.

They sunk down against the sofa cushions, and they adjusted to the new position. A strangled groan tore from his throat as they pressed intimately close. He gazed down at her, his smile gone the room quiet but for the sound of their ragged breathing and the muted sounds of the movie in the background.

"Sansa," he muttered, the husky whisper carrying through the quiet room despite the softness of his tone, the intensity underlying the simple statement unmistakable. Suddenly, every inch of him pressed against him flared with intensity, burning her out. She felt the unmistakable prodding of his arousal, his thigh pressing hard against her. He shifted uncomfortably, an involuntary moan escaping her lips as her body reacted. He tensed at the sound, suddenly aware he wasn't the only one affected by their proximity.

Time seemed to stop.

Their eyes met and locked. Slowly but steadily, he skimmed his hand upward. He seemed to trail fire wherever he touched as he set her senses ablaze, as his hand climbed higher, over her ankle and her leg, ghosting up to slip beneath the leg hem of her denim cut-offs. His other hand followed the same path on her opposite leg and she shivered as calloused fingers danced circles along the inside of her thighs.

His hands suddenly withdrew and she whimpered at the loss, arching against him in silent plea. Jon pressed his lips to her ear. "Shh, lovely girl, it's alright. I'll take care of you. Just lay back for me."

His damp breath expelled with his words, brushing tauntingly against the sensitive skin of her neck and she shivered once more. She moved to do as he had requested; he laid a hand against the small of her back as she leaned back, him leaning upward, until her back hit the couch cushions.

He lay on his side next to her, facing her as he reached out. He touched his fingers to the curve of her elbow and then slowly skimmed them upward, coming to rest at her wrist to feel the wildly fluttering pulse there. Slowly, not taking his eyes off hers, he lowered his mouth to the same place, a strange thrill ringing through him as he felt the erratic pulsing beneath his lips.

It was a strange contrast of sensation that washed over her as he rubbed his cheek against her hand, enjoying the roughness of his skin, created by the light stubble along his jaw, differing sensually to the softness of his lips as he brushed them delicately against the open palm she laid against his face. She thrilled in the silky feel of his hair as she combed her fingers through it. Intensity sparked in his eyes, darkened with desire and a deeper, thicker emotion she suspected to be love, but they had not yet discuss such things.

He levered over her, kissing the curve of her neck as he wasted little time unfastening the button and snap to her shorts. He raised his head, his eyes locking with hers, searching for consent as he gently tugged the cut-offs down and slipped a hand between her legs.

His exploration was tentative, suddenly realizing this was the first time he had ever touched her so intimately. His fingers came back wet and he ventured further, pressing inside her. Her body parted to welcome him and he moved against her slowly, gently, building up that aching pressure inside her.

She whimpered, hips lifting to meet every movement of his hand. He peppered kisses against her cheek, grunting softly. The sound caught her attention and she became abruptly aware of the lingering arousal prodding into her stomach.

She shifted, hooking a leg around his hip, urging him closer by her heel against his back. He made a husky sound of appreciation, thigh and hipbone pressing hard against her as he rocked with her in matching rhythm.

It was like the tide rising and falling with the turns of the moon. She came close to the edge again and again, only to be denied that final fall over the brink. Instead, she soared higher and higher still, tension inside coiling agonizingly tight. She could feel everything so vividly, focusing on the exquisite man above her- the steady rise and fall of his hips, the sweat beading against his brow, the drumming of his heart, the gentle hand touching her.

He trailed his lips down her jaw and chin, pausing to suck at her racing pulse. She gasped and buried her hands in his hair, clutching his head to hold him to her. The heel of his hand pressed hard against her; she cried out, arching against him and she surrendered. She broke apart, shattering into a million different pieces, as if trying to reach the stars above. She felt him jerk and strain against her, and knew he was following after.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she felt his lips pressed to her temple, calloused fingers brushing back her sweat-damp curls. The weight of him shifted to lay beside her, an arm draping over her stomach. She sighed, snuggling closer to him. "Jon…that was…"

"Yeah," he laughed softly, glancing ruefully at the damp stain on his trousers, "Jeez, this hasn't happened to me since I was twelve. I should go change."

He moved to get up but she held on tightly. Jon glanced down at her, confused, as she clung to him, wrapping herself around him in efforts to keep him with her. He sank back down next to her, slipping his arms around her. He could feel her shaking and when she buried her face in his chest, he felt the dampness of the tears that began to fall.

He panicked.

"Sansa? Sansa, sweetheart, talk to me. What's wrong? Is this too soon? Did I go too fast?"

She shook her head, hands tightening into fists as she clutched at his shirt. God, she didn't want to him to go anywhere- never to leave her, never to leave her alone again. "No, it's not that. They're happy tears, I promise. I just...I never thought I'd feel this way. Thank you, Jon." 

Jon pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "After everything you've done for me?" Sansa's lips curled into a smile as she recognized an echo of her words from that afternoon. "It's the least I could do."


	4. Reactions and Observations

**Reactions and Observations**  
By Myriddin

 _Summary: The rest of the Stark siblings react to Sansa and Jon's relationship._

"Jon?!"

Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister's exclamation, the fourth or fifth Arya had given in quick succession. "Yes," she confirmed patiently (also not for the first time), "Jon."

She hid a smile at Arya's irritated huff, as Sansa focused on kneading her dough (for the cookies she had promised Bran and Rickon) without sparing her sister a glance. Arya had never dealt well with change. As if a romance between her honorary brother and her estranged sister was more than enough to throw the poor girl for a loop, even before the relationship had come to light, recent shifts in Sansa's character and their sororal dynamic already had Arya off kilter.

Sansa knew what her sister was attempting. Arya was trying to goad her into losing her temper, so the two of them would fight. Sansa wished she could give her some of the familiar ground Arya so obviously wanted, but Sansa had come too far to let herself fall back into habits that had been so toxic to their relationship. In the past, her own ego and immaturity had clashed epically time and time again with Arya's tendency to jump to the defensive, but Sansa wasn't that spoiled, callow girl anymore. Joffrey Baratheon had changed everything.

Some small part of her still hesitated to call what he had done abuse, but the rest of her knew differently. In less than the single year she had been far from the safety of her family and home, Joffrey had managed to isolate, control and terrorize her into nearly breaking completely, all without ever raising a hand to strike her.

She hadn't shared the details with her family, though she knew everyone had their own theories. Arya certainly made no secret of her suspicions, but Sansa could only hope the teenager was still young enough to think Joff had only been a bad boyfriend. Joffrey Baratheon was hardly worth shattering her younger siblings' innocence over.

Joffrey had managed to keep her so cut off that she hadn't seen or spoken to her family in over six month prior to leaving the prat and returning to London. Those six months had changed her too much to ever go back to her she had been before. She was stronger now, and infinitely more patient. She would wait Arya out as long as she had to.

Hearing Arya begin to fidget behind her, she had a feeling she wouldn't have to wait long.

Coating their mother's rolling pin with flour and beginning to roll out the dough, she looked over her shoulder toward her sullen sister. "Will you get Mum's Halloween cutters from the drawer?"

Arya did as asked and set them beside Sansa, leaning against the counter for several more moments of moody silence before she chose to speak. "Why Jon?"

"Why not Jon?" Sansa countered, brushing her hands of flour before reaching for the cutters. "He's good to me and I quite fancy him."

Arya grimaced but wordlessly began helping her sister cut out ghost, pumpkin and witch cookie shapes. "You're happy?"

Lips curling into a soft smile, Sansa nodded. "I'm happy."

"Alright then."

And that was that.

xxx

After a childhood accident had nearly left him paralyzed for life, Bran Stark had changed from a rowdy, reckless boy he had been. He took to constant wanderings through the corridors of their family home as regular exercise for his limp, his contemplative silences and careful steps forging him into the unofficial sentinel of Stark Manor. It was little surprise he was often witness to the secrets within the manor's walls before any other were in the know-how.

"Jon…"

The sound of his sister's voice, whispering Jon's in such intimate tones, froze Bran in his tracks as he passed by the open doors leading out to one of the second-floor balconies.

He leaned against his cane, grabbing one of the door edges for further support and he sidled a little closer, a threat of suspicion lurking at the edge of his mind as the pair standing in the shadows outside came into his view.

Sansa was against one of the walls, pressed back against the sheet rock surface by the close proximity of Jon, who loomed over her with a hand braced above her head, his eyes intense and staring down into hers. Bran wondered if they had been arguing.

"You're been ignoring me," Jon said softly.

Sansa shook her head in denial. "No, I..."

Jon reached up to tuck a stray curl behind Sansa's ear, letting his fingers gently glide down her cheek. "I'm not daft, darlin'. I know you have been. I just don't understand why."

Bran blinked as he watched Sansa blush. He'd never seen her do that before. His sister sighed, leaning into Jon's touch as the older boy's thumb stroked along her jaw. "I was embarrassed," she finally admitted, her flush deepened.

Jon chuckled. "Why? Because you had a cry? I'd be a complete nutter if I thought less of you for it. You've no reason to be embarrassed, love."

The kiss that followed was so intense Bran found himself blushing in Sansa's stead. He was quick to put an end to his voyeurism, maneuvering himself down the hall to give the couple their privacy.

xxx

A loud exclamation of, "Ugh!" and a dramatically disgusted expression was Rickon's reaction to the first time he saw Sansa and Jon share a kiss. And if he chose to make faces or fake retching noises for months after any time he spotted them sharing affection, the couple barely reacted beyond the occasional eye-roll.

Little boy theatrics were nothing compared to the response they anticipated from Ned and Catelyn.


	5. Worth

**Enough  
** By Myriddin

"…completely unacceptable…"

"…has no sense…turned down a full ride to university to live hand to mouth…"

"…should be like brother and sister…practically raised together…you think of him like a son, Ned!"

It didn't surprise Sansa to hear her mother's raised voice coming from her father's study, but what took her aback was the moment she rounded the corner and found her boyfriend slumped against the wall, his head in his hands. The same boyfriend she had come looking for after he had taken too long to return from the bathroom, the same boyfriend that had found himself in a place well within hearing distance of every disparaging remark Catelyn Tully Stark made toward him and their relationship.

 _Oh, Jon._

She at first wanted to cry, feeling her throat tighten and tears prick the corners of her eyes in preparation, but instead an anger, the likes of which she had only felt once or twice before in her life, swept over her until it overwhelmed her every sense.

Anger so strong that for the first time in her life, Sansa Stark didn't think before she acted. For once, she didn't think about her mother's approval, her father's expectations, protecting her younger siblings' sensibilities. There was only Jon- his smile, his laugh, his kiss- how much she treasured each one and how much she wanted to protect their existence.

She didn't remember many details of the blistering lecture she delivered after storming into the study, though the aftermath was clearer, as she learned it was about time she stopped underestimating her little brothers and sister.

Bran met her and a silent Jon at the base of the stairs to hand them their coats, informing them that Arya was waiting outside to meet the cab they had called for the couple, his eyes soft and understanding as he accompanied them to the door. The tap of Bran's cane against the hardwood was suddenly drowned out by a cacophony of sound coming from the den, explosions and gunfire coming from a telly turned up louder than necessary.

"Nothing distracts Ric better than Star Wars," Bran explained at his sister's quizzical look, one that quickly turned to relief as she realized twelve-year-old Rickon had been spared the raised voices.

Outside, they stood together in silence- her, Jon, Bran, and Arya, until the cab pulled up and solemn farewells were exchanged. Sansa found herself feeling wistful when Bran leaned in to kiss her cheek and she noticed the brush of the baby fine hair growing in on his lip and chin, when she glanced over and realized Arya was tall enough to look Jon in the eye. They weren't children anymore; when had they grown up so much?

Arya took her by surprise one last time by pulling her into a hug after Jon, mumbling softly, "Text us if you need anything."

"Thank you, Arya."

xx

It was with unspoken agreement that they made their way to Sansa's flat, the tense, pregnant silence between them clearly ready to reach its breaking point when the door clicked shut behind them and Sansa turned away to lock it.

Jon was the first to break the standoff. "Why did you do it, Sansa?"

She tensed, hand stilling on the chain-lock. Oh, if this turned out to be about his wounded male pride…

He heaved a heavy sigh, a pair of soft thumps accompanying him taking off his boots. "I'm not worth it, San. Not for getting into rows with your mum and da."

She gave a sigh of her own, slowly turning to face him. "I really wish you wouldn't say things like that about yourself."

It made her incredibly sad that the look he gave her in response was so confused and befuddled, making it painfully clear Jon didn't have an iota of understanding over why she was upset. Sansa kicked off her own shoes, stepping closer until she could link her arms around his neck and look him in the eye.

"I really wish you wouldn't put yourself down, Jon, because all I see is the good, honest man I care so much about. You're more than worth it to me, Jon Snow, and I don't want you to forget it."

The kiss that followed was soft, gentle as a whisper, but still Jon felt as if his world was coming to a standstill, the very core of his being rocked from the extremity of feeling that overtook him with that one kiss. _Sweet girl, lovely girl, precious, precious darling_. Whatever had he done to deserve her attention and affection? He may never know just what worth Sansa Stark saw in him, but he was thankful nonetheless. So very, very grateful.

His body trembled as she slid her hands to his shoulders, her touch invoking a heat that seemed to burn through the fabric of his shirt, branding into his skin and searing through to his very soul. The same feeling pushed at her as their lips collided again in a gentle, passionate kiss. His hand rose to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as they parted and their eyes met, an unspoken agreement passing between them as they came back together again, and again, desperate to maintain the contact.

He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath heavy and his heart thundering as he kept his eyes locked on hers, searching for any signs of hesitation as he slipped her jacket off her shoulders. Sansa kissed him again, deep and hungry, tangling her fingers in the hair at his nape as Jon eagerly freed himself from the confines of his own coat.

As they parted again for breath, he slowly backed her toward the bed, the question in his eyes receiving a confident nod in reply, seating herself on the edge of the mattress, pulling her shirt over her head to reveal the vest-top underneath.

Jon cupped her face, reading the expression of longing desire that crossed her beautiful face. He didn't hesitate any longer, bringing his mouth back to hers as the weight of his body pressed her back against the bed.

Her hands glided up his back to feel the ripple of lean muscles beneath the cotton of his shirt, delighting in the delicious warmth pooling beneath the fabric. His hands traced the curves of her body in return, fingers brushing over hips and thighs as he took in the feel of her.

He took his explorations lower, his senses drinking her in as he pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck, her collarbone, his nose brushing against the swell of her breasts. He rucked up her vest to reveal the soft, creamy skin of her stomach, bending his head to feather teasing kisses around her navel.

He reared upward, shedding his shirt and he felt a flash of masculine pride as her eyes danced over him with quiet appreciation and he lowered himself to her again. They shared secret smiles as her arms slipped around his neck to draw his mouth back to hers.

As they parted once more, wonderfully breathless, they could not help the shy, delighted smiles that broke out over their faces, and they shared again and again the same quick, light kisses before he trailed his lips to her neck. Her eyes fluttered close, lips parting in breathless pleasure and he smiled against her skin, angling his head around so not to let the necklace around his neck catch in her long hair.

Through hooded eyes, she glanced at the sterling silver pendent resting around his neck. St. Jude Thaddeus, patron saint of lost causes. _Oh, Jon_.

Sweet man, wonderful man. How could she ever show him just how much she valued him? She remembered a warning she had received from her friend Mya once, about the dangers of trying to fix a broken man.

She'd made that mistake before, when she thought she could help fix whatever had broken inside Joffrey. The difference this time, was that Jon wasn't broken. He was damaged, and he was deprived. Jon Snow was hungry for so many things: love, family, belonging, acceptance. All of them she was happy to help him realize.

"My turn," she teased with a mischievous curve to her lips, flipping them over without a hint of resistance, Jon eagerly giving himself over to her attentions.

His heart beating a thundering tattoo against his breastbone, Jon panted harshly as Sansa licked a long stripe from his clavicle to his pectorals, his hips giving an involuntary buck as she closed her lips around his nipple.

She rode his movement with an instinctive roll of her hips, the new angle changing an innocent straddle of his waist to something profoundly more intimate, and the breathy little moan she let out had to be the sexiest sound he'd ever heard.

Reading the curiosity and interest in her eyes, he slid his hands down to her hips, moving her against him in a slow, gentle grind. As she found her own rhythm, more of those incredible noises fell from her lips, and it was all Jon could do not to lose himself as molten heat pooled in his belly and his sex thickened and swelled beneath her.

She braced her hands against his chest, sensation sparking straight from her center, racheting up her spine. "Jon," she breathed, fingers curling into the crisp hair dusting his pectorals, "Stay here with me tonight."

He caught her hips to slow her rocking, looking up at her with clear, serious eyes, despite how dilated their pupils had become. "Of course I will. But are you sure-"

"I'm still not ready for everything, but I'd like to explore a little more. If that's alright?"

Holding his eyes, she reached down for the zipper and snap to his trousers, slipping her hand underneath. A moment later, a loud, guttural groan escaped Jon, as his head fell back against the pillow.

"Explore away, love!"


	6. Crossroads

_That letter Jon chose to ignore a few installments ago? It's coming back to turn his comfortable little world upside down._

"I can't believe you got fish and chips, _again_."

Jon rolled his eyes at the dramatic emphasis his girlfriend placed on the last word. "You know I don't like spicy things."

"I keep telling you to just use more yogurt sauce," Sansa retorted, her arm wrapping protectively around the bag containing her curry, offended on a molecular level over Jon's aversion.

"Can't. I'm lactose intolerant."

Sansa stopped in her tracks, regarding him with a flat-eyed stare. "Convenient, considering you take more milk in your tea than you do tea."

Jon huffed. "Sansa, love, I ate a hummus and kale wrap for you today, can't my apparent food sacrilege be forgiven for one night?"

She sighed and stepped closer to link their arms. "For tonight."

Jon smiled. "We'll compromise next time, yeah? Shawarma or Pad Thai, maybe."

Sansa pursed her lips, her face taking on an exaggerated contemplative expression as they entered the door to Jon's building and made their way to the lift. Jon chuckled at her antics, reaching his hand into his takeaway sack to pull out a small paper bag, handing it to her as he pressed the button for the third level. Sansa arched a brow in interest as she opened the bag, her mild suspicion changing to delight when she saw the contents. "Chocolate! You beat me back to the tube, when did you find time to pop by the sweet shop on your way to the chippy?"

"I've learned to teleport, didn't I tell you? How else would I get crème eggs in November?"

"Wispa and Dairy Milk as well," she mused dreamily.

"Three kinds of Dairy Milk."

She leaned her head against his shoulder with a breathy little chortle. "We'll get shawarma next time. You definitely earned your meat."

Jon pressed a kiss to her hair as the lift doors opened to their floor, and the couple untangled to step out into the corridor. "I'm so glad you're guarding my carnivore indulgence points," he replied, amusement coloring his tone.

He turned his head back toward her expecting to see a teasing smile in return, but instead he found Sansa had fallen a few steps behind him, a puzzled frown on her face as she focused on something at the opposite end of the hall, where the flat he shared with his mate Sam resided. "Jon, do you know who that is?"

"No, I don't." Jon's forehead furrowed as he looked in the same direction, his strides lengthening and picking up speed as they headed for the flat with new purpose.

The stranger turned toward them, offering a genial smile as they approached. Tall and lean, he was classically handsome with fine, aristocratic features and silver-blonde hair worn long enough to pull back into a loose ponytail. He wore a tailored woolen overcoat that likely cost more than all the commissions Jon had ever received combined. "Good evening. Are you Jon Snow?"

Sansa slipped her hand into Jon's as she watched her boyfriend's face harden. "I'm Jon. Can I help you?"

A tinge of apprehension penetrated the stranger's pleasant demeanor. "I'm sorry to intrude. I never received a response to my letter, but I felt this was too important not to address face-to-face. My name is Aegon Targaryen, and I'm quite certain I'm your brother."

"What makes you so sure that we're related?"

Jon's bluntly delivered question caught Aegon's attention away from his preoccupation with the mug sitting on the table before him. He raised purple eyes to meet Jon's intense regard. "My father- _our_ father- he passed about this time last year." He paused, studying Jon's face for a reaction, but Jon kept his expression blankly impassive. The two of them were alone as Sansa had taken her food next door to visit with Pyp and Grenn, giving them privacy to talk. "It was only recently that I could bring myself to begin going through his things. I found a folder of paperwork beneath a false bottom in one of his desk drawers-"

"A false bottom? Was he MI6?"

A ghost of a smile played across Aegon's lips. "Rhaegar Targaryen was many things, but James Bond he was not." He sighed softly, grabbing the large manilla envelope he had earlier pulled from his coat, offering it to Jon.

Jon shuffled through the papers in the envelope, his face suddenly clouding over with incredulous shock and fingers freezing as they came across one particular document.

In his hand lay the birth certificate of one Jonathan Christopher Snow, born the 17th of December, 1994. Mother: Lyanna Snow, father unknown.

He existed. Sweet Lord, here it was before him, printed in black and white solidity to show that this existence of his was not just some fruitless whimsy.

Jon drew in a shuddering breath, letting his eyes close tiredly. "He knew about me the entire time."

"I'm afraid so."

He read quietly, the words low and soothing as Sansa laid her head against his shoulder, focusing on the warm sound of his voice and the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed,

"If music be the food of love, play on;  
Give me excess of it that, surfeiting,  
The appetite may sicken and so die.  
That strain again, it had a dying fall.  
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound  
that breathes upon a bank of violets,  
stealing and giving odour..."

He trailed off, the prose interrupted with a quiet yawn from the girl in his arms. He laid his head back, gently combing a hand through the auburn curls draped over his arm. Sansa sighed softly, nuzzling absently against his neck, "Hi," she whispered a little sheepishly, aware she'd been caught half-dozing as he read to her.

Jon smiled softly, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Hi."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'm not the one expected to write an essay on the Twelfth Night."

"It's a good thing then that I have a month to finish it." Jon smiled fondly and held a piece of chocolate to her mouth, Sansa happily closing her lips around the offering, humming contently as the sweet taste met her taste buds. "Mmm, I adore caramel."

Jon grinned and leaned down to kiss her softly, teasing his tongue along the seam of her lips. "Is it caramel now? I suppose that means we finished all the toffee?"

"We did." Sansa sweetly returned his kiss, drawing back to study his face. "Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

Jon paused for a moment, then leaned down to nuzzle her cheek. "Right now, I honestly don't know. But I will be."


	7. Stray

**Stray**

 _Set in the Consent universe, set pre-canon (as in they're kids). Ned stumbles across something suspicious in his kitchen._

Ned Stark frowned deeply as he set his study extension back in its cradle, tiredly rubbing his forehead as he contemplated his next move. He rolled his chair back and got to his feet, intent on finding his wife. He checked their bedroom, Catelyn's craft room, heading down the staircase to the lounge, and then to the kitchen as his last resort. He stopped in his tracks as he was met with an unusual sight.

His oldest daughter was rummaging through the fridge with an over-laden tray beside her- a pair of cucumber and cheese sandwiches, a pasty, cold chicken, three custard tarts, and an assortment of other foods.

"Sansa, what on earth are you doing?"

Sansa spun around, guilt blanketing her young features, and the connections finally clicked into place for Ned. He sighed heavily.

"Sansa, where is Jon?"

Though her lip wobbled ever so slightly, Sansa drew herself up proudly and defiantly. "He can't go back to that place, Papa. It makes him sad."

Ned sighed heavily. When he first received the call from the head of the boys home Jon lived at that the boy hadn't returned back by curfew, he had suspected first thing that his children had something to do with it. Mostly because he wanted nothing to have befallen the boy he thought of as one of his own, yes, but also because of how truly attached his children were to young Jon Snow, and how evident Jon's unhappiness with his current situation had become.

When Robb had first brought Jon home when the boys were ten, Ned had grown as quickly attached as his children, enough that he'd planned to apply to foster Jon until Cat had fallen pregnant with Rickon.

Sansa wasn't seven anymore, she was old enough to realize that Jon didn't go home every time he had dinner with the Starks to a happy home and family like Sansa and her family had. What Ned hadn't anticipated was how strongly his little girl (not so little now, nearly eleven now) was feeling about it.

"Sansa," he stated firmly, "Jon could get in serious trouble."

Sansa sighed, some of her defiance fading in face of Jon being punished. "He's hiding in my room. Don't let him get in trouble, Papa. He didn't want to hide, Robb and I convinced him to."

"Sansa, love..."

"No, Papa, it's not fair for Jon! He doesn't have a mother and father to take care of him, and worst of all, there's nobody that loves him when he goes back to the home! But he's loved here!" A delicate flush came to her cheeks, and Ned began to narrow his eyes at the thought of a young man in his daughter's bedroom. They were young yet, eleven and thirteen, but right about the age when playmates became fanciable...

"Come along, sweetheart. Let's get Jon something to eat and I'll call the home, see if he can spend teh night. No promises, but I'll call around in the morning and see about Jon getting placed a little closer to ours, alright?" It would be closer to the lad's school, after all.

Sansa nodded eagerly and took her father's offered hand, leaving Ned to lift the tray with his free limb and mull over the what-ifs and still-to-comes that came with Jon Snow.


	8. Hot-Blooded

**Hot-Blooded**  
By Myriddin

Sansa had never condoned her mother's judgement regarding Jon's decision not to go to university, but it was something she especially felt passionately about now that she had seen for herself the skill and dedication Jon applied to his chosen trade.

From thirteen on, Jon had stopped bouncing around the foster system to take up permanent residence (at least until his eighteenth birthday) at a boys' home. Largely left to his own devices save for school attendance, set mealtimes, and curfew, he went in search for a source of pocket money to fund his daily visits to the Stark residence. Longclaw Custom Works first hired him to sweep the floor, but by sixteen he was apprenticed to Jeor Mormont, a master woodcraftsman and premiere furniture maker. Jon's artisan talent flourished under Jeor's tutelage, and it was all but set in stone that Jon was his chosen successor.

One of Jeor's nieces (some of whom worked shifts in the store, others ran a glassblowing business together, producing beautiful pieces sold at Longclaw alongside Jeor and his apprentices' work), Dacey, had hinted the last time she and Sansa crossed paths that the Old Bear attempting to find a way to make sure the self-effacing aspects of Jon's personality wouldn't get in the way.

Last on a Friday afternoon, Longclaw was virtually empty save for an elderly couple perusing the shelf of glass vases, and a sour-faced woman carrying on what looked like a rather one-sided argument with Jorelle Mormont. As Sansa drew closer, she could make out the tired frustration in Jory's voice as she calmly explained that no, custom orders were not refunded after the forms expressing satisfaction with the finished product had been signed and dated, especially six months after the purchase.

As the woman finally gave up with a huff and stormed out of the store, Jory only rolled her eyes and returned to the register in anticipation of the couple making their way to the front. She gave Sansa a tired smile, nodding toward the back. "Go on ahead, love. He's been working back there all afternoon. Let him know I'll be closing up soon, yeah?"

"I will. Thanks, Jory."

The smell of sawdust and varnish greeted her entrance into the back workshop, empty save for her diligently working lover in the corner.

It was a large space, lumber piled against the far wall, different cuts of more expensive woods scattered throughout. Individual workstations dominated the space, but Sansa had to circumvent her way around a few pieces of machinery that formed a makeshift shared area (she fondly reminisced on watching the play of Jon's muscles as he worked the circular saw).

Jon's station was typically kept neater than the other apprentices', but strips and flecks of shaven wood were all over the floor today. She had suspected as much, but it hurt her heart to see the evidence he had been working away for hours on what was supposed to be his day off, even if she wasn't surprised. Drowning himself in a new project when he had something on his mind was a long ingrained habit of Jon's. He certainly had plenty to brood over these days.

Not wanting to interrupt his concentration right away, she admired a nearly-finished side-table, the crest of each leg finely carved into the shape of a wolf's head. The only sound filling the shop was a soft, rhythmic scraping, enough to catch her attention and curiosity. With one end clamped down on his workbench and the other braced against his knee, Jon was slowly, methodically, running a piece of sandpaper up and down the curved length of a rocker, the other unfinished pieces belonging to the rest of the rocking chair nearby.

A few minutes of silent observation passed before Jon finally spoke. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

"Used to what?"

He was quiet for a moment as he ran his fingers down the rocker, testing the grain and apparently satisfied with his work as he set the sandpaper aside, getting to his feet. "That look you get when you watch me work. There's something about it…something more than interest…" he trailed off, a flush creeping up to his neck as he focused on gathering up his tools instead of meeting her eyes.

"Something like awe, maybe?" she asked gently. "Because I am in awe of what you do, Jon. You're so talented, I don't think you even realize how much."

He finally raised his eyes to hers, a shy smile curling his lips. "I feel the same when I watch you draw, you know. You create such beautiful images, Sansa. It's amazing."

It was Sansa's turn to feel a bit bashful, but she held his gaze, watching as his smile grew, reflecting the affection and warmth in his eyes. They stood there for a long moment, content with the quiet connection and understanding, before it naturally came to an end and Jon set to cleaning up.

He hung his tools back on the corkboard, Sansa following his example after in grabbing one of the two brooms kept in the workshop and beginning to sweep. They worked companionably until the space was neat and orderly. As Jon emptied the dustpan into the trash, slender arms wrapped around his waist and warm lips pressed to his nape. He hummed contently, turning his head to catch her mouth with his. Jon fully twisted around to wrap his arms around her in turn, a low moan rumbling in his throat as Sansa teased her tongue across the seam of his lips.

The kiss deepened, Sansa's clever hands venturing beneath the hem of his t-shirt to slide up his back, drawing another of those delicious moans from his lips as she gently scored her nails across his shoulder-blades. She could feel a different sort of energy coiling in the muscles beneath her fingers, a familiar change that filled her with nerves and dread with Joffrey but only thrilled her with Jon. He wasn't yet stirring between them enough to be noticeable, but the hungry tension of desire was settling in beneath his skin. She shivered with responsive want, overwhelmed with the visceral need to be closer, close as possible. Craving that feel of him, she rocked into him, frustrated when the position they were in didn't allow for the closeness she desired.

Reading her need as he was wont to do, his hands went from her waist to the back of her thighs, supporting her firmly as she kicked off the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist. Jon reluctantly broke the kiss out of need to watch where he was going as he started walking them toward the workbench, but she proved an irresistible as she nuzzled against his cheek, kissing the underside of his jaw. Jon groaned, unable to resist as he pressed her against the nearest solid surface, the partition wall separating the workstations to keep flying sawdust at bay. She undulated against him, lifting her hips until she could feel him, hard and thick, pressed flush to her center. A bolt of sensation shot through her and she rocked against him once more, chasing that pleasure. With a low growl, Jon thrust up in turn, the rickety plywood wall behind them creaking ominously in response.

The couple froze, staring stunned at one another for a long moment before bursting into incredulous laughter. Sansa tightened her hold on him and Jon secured his own before straightening up, intent on his original destination. "Jacket off, love," he instructed softly. "Don't want the edge of the bench biting into your thighs."

With a hum of agreement, she obligingly shrugged out of the coat, allowing him to spread it out on the workbench before he settled her on top. His brow furrowed with a sudden thought and he shot a concerned glance over his shoulder, quickly refuted when her fingers curled around his chin, turning his face back toward her. "Jon Snow," she gently chided. "When have I ever forgotten to lock the door?"

"Good point," he conceded. Sansa smiled in reply, reaching up to pull his head down to hers. With a soft sigh, she laced her arms around his neck as she kissed him. It was a quiet, languorous contact, a gentle press of her mouth to his, deepening as he pressed closer. His hands stroked her sides, eliciting a pleased hum from her as they skimmed upward to just barely brush the undersides of her breasts in a ghostlike caress. She clutched at his shoulders, leaning further into his embrace as the warmth and the feel of him enthralled and called to her.

He nudged her collar aside, teasingly trailing light, fleeting kisses down her collarbone, and she tangled her fingers through his hair, angling her neck to give him better access. She gasped as he licked a stripe across her sensitized skin, a shock of sensation jolting straight to the core of her. "Jon," she moaned, reluctantly giving his shoulders a gentle shove back.

He lifted his head and leaned back just enough for her to reach her hands between them, reaching for the hem of her top as she drew it over her head. Jon's breath caught as he watched every hint of enticing skin being revealed (she would never stop being the most beautiful thing he had ever seen), his heartbeat picking up as she next reached for his t-shirt, lifting his arms to aid her venture.

She idly toyed with the silver pendant around his neck, letting her fingers trail down his chest, delighting in the feel of him. He was lean, wiry with muscles firm and taut beneath unexpectedly soft skin. His shoulders were broad, his arms strong (just the sight of them gave her a visceral memory of his embrace), his stomach toned and flat. Her eyes followed the thin strip of dark hair trailing downward to his waistband and she hooked her fingers in his belt-loops, pulling an unresisting Jon as close as possible, parting her legs to allow his hips to slot between her thighs.

Her arms wrapped around him, her torso molding into his, and he ran his hands from her waist to the small of her back. His touch was met with a moan of approval as calloused fingers caressed the smooth skin, tracing slow circles to elicit sensual shivers down her spine. She rocked her hips into his and Jon groaned. She was soft and warm and amazing pressed so close. He felt his trousers tighten, but focusing on himself was far from his intention.

He leaned down to give her a slow, lazy kiss, applying the same leisure to the steady, unhurried grind of his hips. They parted for breath, and the hungry, heavy-lidded look he gave her was downright sinful, nearly as visceral as a true caress as heat coiled low in her belly and pooled below. The friction brought with each drag of his body against her was deliciously pleasing, but as wonderful as it felt, it wasn't quite enough. "Jon," she mewled, arching into him in plea. "Please."

"Please what, sweetheart?" he patiently replied, and Sansa's kneejerk reaction was to protest, but she knew he wasn't trying to tease or be cruel. Since that first night at the Greyjoy house when she'd been discomforted by a more intimate touch and frozen rather than speak up, Jon had been slowly encouraging her to give voice to her wants. Her cheeks burned, her tone was tentative and shy, but she managed to get the words out. "Could you…your mouth, like the other day?"

He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss her once more, reaching over to undo the button and zipper to her jeans, Sansa kicking off her shoes and lifting her hips to aid him in pulling them off, taking her knickers down with them, kneeling down before her.

He reached up to tug her closer to the edge, encouraging her to spread her legs a little further and drape them over his shoulders. His hands were warm, scarred and calloused from years of woodwork, against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, as he brought his right to their apex, his fingers sliding through the tight thatch of curls to just barely dip between her folds, rubbing back and forth to gather lubrication, then running his thumb over her clit, feeling the little nub grow harder with each stroke. With his index and middle finger, he parted her lower lips, nudging his head closer until the thick, musky scent of her filled nearly every sense, finally dominating the last as he licked into her.

He started slow, with lazy, indiscriminate swipes of his tongue. She sighed contently, running her fingers through his hair, hips jolting forward as his nose nudged against her clit. He turned his attention there, sucking lightly at the little nub, and her hold on his hair tightened, drawing an appreciative groan as her nails scratched against his scalp.

At first, she fought her body's need to move, but soon enough she couldn't deny instinct, hips jerking up to meet his mouth with every stroke of his tongue. He licked until his jaw ached, firm and slow until her rocking picked up in urgency, her body held tense, drawn taut like a bowstring. He couldn't hear as her thighs had come to bracket around his head, covering his ears, but he was certain her breath had grown ragged and harsh. She was close, and he ached to be the one to bring her there, throbbed painfully in his jeans at knowing he was about to.

He added his fingers, slipping easily through her wetness and inside her. He curled them, closing his lips around her clit and sucking hard. Her back bowed, her walls clenched down hard around him, and her thighs clamped tight around his head as she came.

He stroked and licked through the last waves of her orgasm. Smugly pleased as he was, it was still a relief to breathe easy again when her legs fell limp back against his shoulders. She blew out a long, unsteady breath, tugging gently on his hair. Jon followed the unspoken request, grimacing at the crack his knees made as he got to his feet (he hadn't stopped to think about the concrete floor). Sansa winced in sympathy. "Poor dear," she murmured softly, leaning in to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips as she deepened the contact, licking into his mouth.

The pressure of the kiss strained his sore jaw, but it barely registered more than the pain in his knees. Still, Sansa was aware of his discomfort, slowing down with a few chaste pecks to his lips. "That was beyond wonderful, darling." Feeling both sated and bold, she reached down to cup him. "Let's get this taken care of, and then we'll find a nice soft bed, hmm?'


End file.
